Page 102 of The Dysasters

Foster swiped at the droplets clinging to her lashes. “Are we done yet with the tight-ass-bitch routine? I’m pretty fucking tired of standing in a hurricane.”

“And you’re crazy, you,” Bastien muttered.

“He’s right. You’re insane. And we’re going home. Now.” Foster started to back away, and the group moved with her.

“So, are you all children and Foster is your mommy who makes decisions for you?” Eve’s voice filled with sarcasm.

“You were going to tie Mr. Bowen up and drag him down the sandafteryou told that horrid fire person to burn up his dog. I don’t need a mama to decide for me that I’m not going anywhere with you,” Charlotte was the first to speak up.

“Foster and I are together on this. We want nothing to do with any of you,” Tate said.

“Leave these kids alone and crawl back under whatever rock someone was stupid enough to lift off you,” G-pa grumbled.

“Old man, I have had all I can take of your mouth!” Luke raised his hands and as they began to glow, he started forward.

Tate moved fast, shoving his grandpa and Bugsy behind him. The four kids stood side by side, blocking Luke.

Foster took half a step forward. Wind followed her, lifting her wild red hair ominously. “I will blow that little hand fire of yours up your ass if you try that shit with us.” The sky above Foster darkened as air rotated around them, blowing out Luke’s twin flames like candles on a birthday cake.

“Oooh, so angry! So passionate! Father’s going to love dealing with you,” Eve said.

“Too bad he won’t get the chance,” Foster replied.

“Oh, sister. That’s just one of the many things you’re wrong about.” Then Eve lifted her foot and stomped. Hard.

The earth beneath them shivered as if they were standing on a plate of Jell-O, knocking Foster to her knees. Tate was there in an instant, taking her arm and helping her regain her feet.

“Get off me!” Foster jerked free. “I can handle her myself.” Undiscovered rage coiled in her gut. Her father had sent the Four. He’d put her and Corathrough the anguish of losing him and the panic of running from his sick creations, and for what? So he could send the children he deemed worthy of his love to capture the only one who truly knew him as father?

Foster understood how he saw her.

She wasn’t deserving.

Message received.

Now she’d send a message of her own.

It started with her hair—the air lifting her long, wet strands as if gravity had stitched itself between the clouds. Currents blazed to life around her, snapping snake-like at the unrelenting rain as her arms lifted and her heels rose weightless from the sand.

“Cyclone,” Bastien breathed, and Foster tilted her chin toward the heavens.

The clouds were cement, pouring a thick, gray funnel above her like ice cream. Foster’s spine frosted and her feet settled against the earth.

Her hate would kill them.

Eve’s laughter filled the angry wind. “That’s right! Call the cyclone. Show us your power and tear up this pathetic excuse for a town.”

Tate’s hand slipped over Foster’s. Gently prying open her clenched fist, he wove his fingers between hers. “Not with anger, Foster. That’ll only bring more death—more sadness.”

“Anger’s never the way.” G-pa’s gruff voice sliced through the wind, opening a conduit directly to Foster’s heart.

“Shut it, old man,” Luke said.

“Yeah, you’re just jealous that anger’s doing all of this.” Matthew’s arm swept up at the malevolent funnel swirling above Foster. “Check it out, you fossil.Thisis real power.”

“No. This isn’t real power.” Charlotte was suddenly there, standing beside Foster. “Anger’snotthe way because hate isn’t the strongest emotion.”

“That would beamour—love,” Bastien said, stepping up beside Charlotte.